I Hear the Voice of Rage and Ruin
by Mosva
Summary: An elf embarks on an adventure that will change her life in more ways than she thought possible.
1. Chapter 1

Zhara stared at the corpse at her feet. Vaughan. She only wished it had lasted longer - that he had suffered some.

"I'm sorry, Soris."

Soris knelt over his cousin's body. He wanted to wake up now; to wake up and realize that it was all a bad dream. He wanted to wake up and slip into his wedding clothes, to have the ceremony and to go live happily ever after. Right now, he should be carrying Valora over the threshold, and Nelaros should be carrying Tarel over theirs. Shianni, his younger sister, should be giddy with excitement - and perhaps a bit of wine - and the Alienage should be in a state of celebration. Instead, Tarel and Nelaros are dead; his betrothed has spent the day in a dungeon; his sister's been raped; and the Alienage is about to be plunged into a state of mourning.

When the women of the wedding party emerged from the back room, they could scarcely believe their eyes. Gasps and stifled sobs filled the room. Many of them had looked up to Tarel; she was a friend and a role model to many. If the Alienage had one beacon of hope, it was her. She was a girl with a mind as sharp as the daggers she wielded so masterfully, and a tongue to match. And as realization set in, their hearts fell.

"Come, Soris. We need to get these women out of here."

Soris looked at Zhara with tears in his eyes. "We can't just leave her here! Think of what they'll do to her - think of Cyrion!"

"Then we'll take her with us." Zhara promptly lifted the body. "All of you, take a weapon or shield if you can find one. There are plenty of bodies to pick from. We've already cleared the way, but it's best to be prepared."

* * *

><p>Zhara could see them already, Valendrian and the Grey Warden. As the group came closer, she saw Cyrion join them. Valendrian gestured past the gate, and Cyrion's face paled. She could see the look of pity the Warden gave him. It was a look she had never seen a human give an elf.<p>

"What happened?" Cyrion choked back his sadness and took his daughter in his arms.

"We were overwhelmed. They killed Nelaros and Nola, too. Take what comfort you can in the knowledge that Vaughan will never again cause such pain."

As Cyrion took his daughter's body away, Duncan shook his head. "I'm sorry today has been so tragic, but I am afraid that I came for a recruit and I must leave with one."

Valendrian nodded. "If there is one bright spot in this tragic time, it is that one of my people will be getting out of this place. Zhara, today you will set forth on the adventure of a lifetime." He gestured modestly from Zhara to Duncan.

Zhara's eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. "Surely you're not serious, Valendrian!"

"I am very serious. Zhara, you are like a daughter to me, and though it saddens me greatly to see you leave, there is more for you out there than you could ever hope to find here."

"If I may interject, there is also the matter of the Arl's son, my lady." Duncan stepped forward. "The guards are surely on their way, and if left to them you will surely hang before the day is done."

"The Arl's guards do not frighten me. Have you forgotten, Valendrian, the life I have led?"

"I'm sorry, Zhara; I know you are not happy with this decision, but the matter is not up for debate. Duncan is in need of a recruit, and I know no better candidate than you."

"The guards are here!" A passerby shouted. The street fell suddenly silent as the Alienage held its breath. Would they kill her? Would they kill everyone?

Zhara gave Valendrian, Soris, and the Warden one more look as she turned to face the guards. True to her nature, she turned and awaited her fate with her back straight and chin held high.

"We seek the Elder Valendrian, Keeper of the Alienage."

"Here, Captain. I assume you're here in response to today's events?"

"Don't play stupid with me, elf. The Arl's son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace. I need names and I need them now."

"I am responsible." Zhara stepped forward without hesitation. She seemed almost queen-like, with her perfect posture and a stoic expression on her blood-spattered face. Behind her, Soris flinched but said nothing. He knew as well as she did that it was better that one of them die rather than both, and Soris had more to lose; he had a family and a future – Zhara had only her honour.

"You expect me to believe that one woman is responsible for that massacre? Do you take me for a fool, elf? Do you think I cannot see your little friend cowering behind you, covered in blood?

"Had you ever left the safety and comfort of your castle walls and taken part in a _real_ battle, rather than those foolish political skirmishes your kind are so fond of, you would know that blood does not simply choose to land on the one who draws it." She spoke with a regal eloquence that seemed to surprise the guards. "It is true that he was present, but if it is a killer you seek, then I am the one you want." The elves who had not chosen to run for cover began to whisper amongst themselves. The captain remained silent for a moment. Zhara assumed it was partly out of surprise and partly because he was trying to resist the urge to strike her down then and there.

Part of her wanted him to try it. Part of her wanted the rush and the thrill of the battle and of the hunt that would follow. But as she imagined the rush and the thrill, she heard her father's nagging voice in the back of her mind. Everything was about honour and duty with him, and he had been sure to instill it in his only child. Like it or not, Zhara was a warrior, and as such she was obligated to respect the Keeper's wishes, as well as the Warden's. She could wait for him to invoke the Right of Conscription which he undoubtedly possessed, or she could maintain some level of honour and dignity by accepting his request which had thus far gone unanswered.

"Unfortunately, Ser Knight, it would seem that there are more pressing issues that I must see to."

"Such as…?" The Captain gave her a look that was somewhere between questioning and mocking.

"Saving the world. Which, much to my dismay, includes you." She turned to Duncan. "Warden, I accept your offer."

"I am glad to hear it. Gentlemen, give your Arl my regards. I did not intend to interfere."

Zhara raised a hand as the Captain turned to leave. "Give him my regards as well; I was so looking forward to dying for his entertainment. Perhaps another time?"


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

"I am sorry to spring this on you so suddenly," Duncan began. "I assure you it was not without reason. Ferelden is on the verge of a Blight, and the Darkspawn horde grows with each passing day. The Grey Wardens are in dire need of new recruits."

"So you just roam around Ferelden searching for people with nothing to live for?"

"In a way, yes." He chose to overlook her cynicism. "Of course the majority of our recruits come straight out of the army, but many of them come to us by accident. In fact, one of your fellow recruits, Daveth, is one such case."

"Daveth?"

"Indeed. Do you know him?"

"If he's a wiry, sneaky little weasel, then yes."

Duncan chuckled. "Yes, that's him. The day I conscripted him, he cut my purse; the guards got to him first and wanted him hanged. I conscripted him before things could go any further. It is a shame more recruits don't make it so easy. Granted, I had anticipated much more difficulty in tracking you down, after my visit to the castle."

Zhara's fingers brushed the handle of her dagger. "How do you know about the castle?"

"Ah, I see you have forgotten." He gave a slight smile, barely visible under his heavy beard. "I was friends with your mother, before she left the Wardens. She craved adventure like no other. As soon as the Darkspawn threat had passed, she went her own way."

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with the stories of her more… adventurous days."

Duncan nodded. "I visited your family in the castle many times. You were little more than knee-high back then." His dark eyes seemed to brighten as he reminisced, but they soon dulled. "When I heard what had happened to your parents, I went to the castle to collect you and your brother as per their request. I was turned away at the gates; the guards told me that you were both dead and to be on my way."

"If you'd seen the amount of blood in that room, you would have believed it too. The killers came back, you know. They chased us into the city. Vence pushed me down an alley and led them away from me. I don't know if he got away or not. I ended up in the Alienage and was too afraid to go back."

"I do not think those guards _believed_ it - they were too guarded for that. I would not have continued my search for you had I believed that you were dead. But there were no leads, and eventually I had to give up."

"If you gave up, then why were you at the Alienage?"

Duncan gave a chuckle. "I assure you, it was not in search of a ghost. Valendrian is an old friend of mine and has supported my need for recruits in the past. Had he not put forth your name, I would never have known you were alive, much less in Denerim. It's not exactly a day's stroll from Nevarra, after all."

Zhara gave a half-hearted smirk. If she'd known what awaited her in Denerim, would she have ever come?


	3. Chapter 3

Zhara wandered through the camp. For the most part she was ignored, and for this she was thankful. Most people here were too busy with their own affairs to pay her any mind. Duncan had told her to make any necessary adjustments to her armour and weapons and then find a Grey Warden by the name of Alistair when she was ready to head out into the Wilds.

_'Alistair. What kind of a name is Alistair?' _She let the name roll around in her head for a while, as if trying to determine whether it sounded more like a pastry or a breed of cat. Humans had an odd taste for names. Admittedly, she had encountered some humans with very nice names, but the majority of them just sounded silly. Elves gave their children noble names - names with strength and character. Very few humans, she decided, could say the same. _'Al-i-stair,'_ she let the name drag out. It was hardly a name fitting of a warrior. She pictured what he might look like in her mind: some scrawny pretty boy, a snotty son of a noble seeking glory in the thrill of battle, unaware that battle usually involves killing and bloodshed. Probably the kind of human who would see her kind locked away in an Alienage and treated like common servants and whores. Probably just another Vaughan.

With sharpened blades and a new, sturdier pair of gloves, Zhara sought out this _Alistair_ character. The merchant had pointed her in the direction he'd last seen the Warden headed - something for which she was grateful, as she had no desire to continue her aimless wandering of the camp. Since her arrival, she'd been mistaken for a slave by two merchants and one soldier, and had followed a wandering hand back to one newly-shamed soldier with a sling around his neck.

_'He has to be around here somewhere,'_ Zhara looked around, sure that this was the place the merchant had described. There was no one in sight, but she could hear two voices nearby. She had hardly begun following them when a man turned the corner and nearly crashed into her. He eyed her angrily and carried on his way, grumbling all the while.

"Sorry about that," a taller man stood, scratching the back of his head. "Mages tend to get a bit... testy... around me."

"Mages tend to _be_ testy. Period."

The man chuckled. "True, very true. Can I help you find something? You look a little lost."

"Perhaps. I'm supposed to find a warden by the name of Alistair."

"Alistair, eh? Strapping young lad, devilishly handsome? I think we can manage." A slight smirk played across his lips.

"Indeed. So much so, in fact, that he must toot his own horn, so to speak." She raised an eyebrow.

"All right, all right. Point taken. No need to be so mean about it." He pouted. "What do you need?"

"Duncan sent me to collect you. We're to meet him in the center of camp to get our orders. Come on."

* * *

><p><em>'Really? <em>This _is Alistair?' _Zhara's eyes trailed over the soldier once more. _'From the looks of it, he might actually be able to fight. Tall, broad shoulders, thick in the middle... hopefully that's muscle under there. I'm not here to carry some useless shem through a forest crawling with darkspawn and wolves. If he's flabby, he's bear food.'_

"Hello, gorgeous," a familiar voice intruded on the woman's thoughts.

Zhara's eyes narrowed in recognition and she turned with her dagger in hand. "Where's my money, you good-for-nothing weasel?" She snarled, her blade pressed to the soft flesh of his neck. "Two sovereigns. Now."

"See, this is why I like you," he casually brushed aside her arm. "But I ain't got two; I ain't even got one. All I got to my name is thirty-two pieces an' what I'm wearin' right now. But if you like, I hear a night with me is worth a lot more than a couple lousy sovereigns." He said with a wink.

Zhara smirked. "I don't doubt that - I hear doctors charge a hefty price to cure the things you're crawling with."

"Be still my beating heart, I think I'm in love. Still the sharpest tongue in all of Ferelden, I see."

"Sharpest blades, too, and don't you forget it. Two sovereigns, one week, or you get to know my daggers in a whole new way."

* * *

><p>"Now, you just stay in back where it's safe, all right?" Jory joked as they entered the Korcari Wilds. He was a big, lumbering man with a decidedly stupid face. Zhara had yet to witness his ability with a sword, and hoped that he was more skilled than he looked.<p>

_'If he couldn't fight, he wouldn't be here. Right?'_ She gave the giant an appraising once-over, hoping to see some mark of ability. There was none. _'I'm going to die. I always thought I'd die heroically and be a legend. So much for that - a rabbit is going to jump out from behind a shrub, and he's going to swing that sword around and lop off my head. For years, they'll be talking about the assassin who was killed by a bunny.' _

The group kept up a good pace - fast enough to make good time but slow enough to scan for enemies lying in wait. The only sound to be heard was the rattle of the men's armour. That was one reason Zhara preferred her leathers: they were quiet. Mail armour practically screamed, 'here I am' - leather allowed her to move quickly and lightly, to hear her enemies before they heard her. To her, dexterity and quick thinking meant the difference between life and death.

"Wait," she ordered. The group stopped.

"What is it?" Daveth asked. "What do you see?"

"Something moved up ahead. Take it slow."

Again, the mail armour started to rattle and creak, and Zhara cursed it under her breath. All this extra noise was throwing her off. She couldn't hear anything that might tip her off as to what was waiting for them - or where.


	4. Chapter 4

"Shit, Daveth!" Zhara yanked her dagger from the eye-socket of a Genlock and raced to the fallen rogue. A Hurlock closed in on the man, its axe raised to lop off his head. Zhara slashed at its side. The beast doubled over, its elbows moving instinctively to protect itself. It lunged at her. She spun to evade and stepped behind the creature, swiftly punching her dagger into the soft spot at the base of its skull. She kicked the body out of the way and knelt beside her comrade.

"Don't move," she ordered, and began to cut through the leather armour. "It's not too deep - I can remove the arrowhead, but it's going to hurt. Ready?"

Daveth grunted in response and braced himself. Being an archer, he knew that removing an arrow was not always as simple as pulling it by the shaft. Zhara would have to first widen the wound and then attempt to grasp the head itself. He clenched his fists and tried to think of anything but the pain.

* * *

><p><em>He watched the woman struggle as the men overtook her. She slashed at their throats, at their arms, at anything that came within arm's reach. One lay dead at her feet. Blood ran down her face from the gash on her forehead. A stream of curses flew from her mouth as she attempted to throw off her attackers.<em>

_"Stop." A large figure emerged from the darkness. The men immediately ceased their assault, but held the woman firm. Too exhausted to fight anymore, her steely gaze settled on the speaker. His footsteps echoed on the stone as he approached her. "My my, aren't you a pretty thing?" He cupped her chin and turned her face first one way then the other. "You'll fetch a fine price on the market - assuming you'll be a good little elfling and cooperate, that is. What do you say to that, hmm?" He sneered at her, his face mere inches from hers._

_The spectator cringed as he watched her spit in the leader's face. An instant later, a sharp crack resonated through the alley. From the rooftop, he readied his bow. One shot. He breathed deeply to steady his shaking hands and racing mind. If he missed, the leader would give the order to kill her immediately. Even if he was successful, he was unsure of what the goons would do in their panic. He shook the image of her snapping neck from his mind and released his arrow. Shouts filled the air - along with a woman's cry._

_The archer swung his feet over the edge of the building, catching his fingers on the edge for a moment before letting himself drop the rest of the way. Instinct took over, and then there was silence._

_"Zhara," he raced to where his companion knelt over the body of one of her attackers. With one hand she held a bloody knife - with the other, she grasped her abdomen._

_"How bad is it? Can you move?" He took her shaking body in his arms._

_She exhaled through gritted teeth. "Sodding bastard," she tried to stand, but fell to her knees with a whimper. "It hurts, Daveth."_

_"I know, love. Don't try to move." He stroked her hair, matted with blood, and placed a gentle kiss on her temple. "I'll take you home an' get you cleaned up. You'll be okay."_

_"He set us up."_

_"He'll get what's comin' to him, love, don't worry. He don't matter right now."_

_"Daveth-"_

_"Shh," he put a finger to her lips. "Not now. Come on, love, let's get you home."_

* * *

><p>"Will he be okay?"<p>

"His biggest worry now is infection. I've done the best I can with what I had on-hand, now all we can do is keep an eye on him until we get back to camp."

"Perfect. Just perfect. Stuck overnight in a forest crawling with Darkspawn with one man down. We'll be dead by morning, we will. I say we load him up and head back now. You said you can sense Darkspawn, right? We can avoid them and get to safety for the night."

"It's not that simple, Ser Jory. A Grey Warden's link to the Darkspawn is a double-edged sword - we can sense them, but they can also sense us."

"But that means they can follow you here anyway! Why sit here all night waiting for them when we could find our way back in half the time and then be safe in Ostagar?"

"The more we move, the more we increase our chances of crossing paths with Darkspawn. Here, Alistair can sense any that come near and then it is only a matter of defending our camp. If we stay, we might be attacked. If we leave, we guarantee it. I'm not putting Daveth in that kind of danger in his state. We stay."

"Aww, that's sweet, love. See? I knew you still cared 'bout me." Daveth stirred in his bedroll, a pained smirk on his scruffy face.

"Shut up, Daveth."

"You should be a nurse with that bedside manner. Make your patients feel all warm and fuzzy inside, you would."

* * *

><p>Zhara's eyes scanned the tree line. There was the occasional rustle of movement as the nocturnal critters went about their business, but so far there had been no sign of Darkspawn. For that, Zhara was grateful.<p>

"I never meant to cause you so much trouble, you know."

"I thought I told you to shut up." Zhara moved her gaze across the tree line once more.

"If I could go back and change what I done... Trust me, love, I would. You know that."

"You just never know when to keep your mouth shut, do you, Daveth?" Zhara finally turned her steely eyes to the injured man. "You've always got something to prove, someone to show up. And for that, I nearly lost it all. I fight by your side, save your hide more times than I care to count, and you repay me by betraying my location to _them_!"

"It's like I told you, love. I'm sorry. If I'd recognized them, I woulda left right away - but I didn't. I've tried ta make it up to you, but you won't have none of it. I don't know what else to do, love. I just want you to forgive me!"

"I will fight by your side, Daveth. I will protect you. I will do my best to keep you alive. But what's done is done, and you will never have me or my trust again."


	5. Chapter 5

"Well, well, what have we here? Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned? Or merely an intruder, come into these Darkspawn-filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey? What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?"

"_Your_ wilds? That's a little bold, don't you think?" Zhara raised an eyebrow at the stranger. "You may call the rest of the wilds your home, but this tower belongs to the Grey Wardens. We've every right to be here." Behind her, Daveth took a protective step forward.

"'Tis a tower no longer. The wilds have long since claimed this desiccated corpse. I have watched your progress for quite some time." The woman strode past the group, circling around behind them. "'Where do they go?' I wonder. 'Why are they here?' And now, you disturb ashes that none have touched for so long. Why is that?"

Zhara's fingers played lightly on the dagger strapped to her thigh.

"Don't answer her." Alistair warned. "She looks Chasind. Others could be nearby."

"Careful, love," Daveth was now only mere inches away, ready to attack at the first sign of an attack. "She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is. She could turn us all into toads if she wanted."

"Witch of the Wilds, you say?" The stranger smirked with amusement. "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own? You, there," Her eyes met with Zhara's. "women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

"Zhara."

The woman nodded her approval. "Morrigan. Dare I guess your reason for being here?"

"We require the treaties that were kept here. Any help you could offer in finding them would be much appreciated." Zhara gave a small nod of respect.

"What are you doing?" Daveth hissed, the panic clear in his voice.

"Trust me, Daveth. Like old times."

"You would do well to follow in your friend's lead, archer." Her stare chilled the man to the bone. Her eyes flicked back to Zhara, her expression softening ever so slightly. "Your precious treaties have been in the care of my mother for many years. If you wish, I will take you to her, and you can talk to her yourself."

* * *

><p>"What the hell was that?" Daveth and Zhara barked at each other the instant the gates of Ostagar closed behind them.<p>

"Since when do you go 'round makin' friends with witches that wanna turn us into toads?"

"That's rich, coming from you! By all means, let's insult the ones who have the upper hand! _Brilliant!_ Your ignorance was more likely to get us killed than anything else!" Zhara quipped back.

"You could've been leadin' us into an ambush!"

"At any moment, either one could have decided they'd had enough of your idiocy and killed us all for it!"

"All right, all right, let's not kill each other now." Alistair stepped between the two, his hands on their shoulders. "You're both right, and you're both wrong. But we're here now and that's what matters. Agreed? Now let's go report to Duncan."

* * *

><p>"Pardon me," Zhara looked up from sharpening her dagger to see a familiar bearded face. "I'd like to have a word with you in private, if you don't mind."<p>

"Of course, Duncan." She tucked away her blade and walked with him away from the camp.

"As you know, I was very close with your parents, Zhara. It pained me greatly to learn of their death, and what I assumed to be yours and your brother's as well. Looking back on it, I regret not doing more to uncover the truth of what happened that night. But there were no leads - there were no survivors, no witnesses, and not a shred of evidence. Or so they claimed. It may not be fair of me to ask, but if you remember anything, I would like to make one last attempt to learn the truth of that night. Your family deserves that much."

Zhara sighed. After ten years, the memories still remained vivid and painful. Since her parents' death, so much had happened that she'd rarely had the time to let her mind wander to that unwelcome place. If there was ever a reason to bring to light those horrific memories, however, it was now.


	6. Chapter 6

"What do you think, Sister? Not bad, right?" A scruffy-haired teen wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned at his younger sister.

"Not bad at all, Brother." She grinned back. "But I could have killed you thrice if Father had allowed me my favoured blades."

"You must learn to use a variety of weapons, not just your precious daggers." His bold grin softened to a gentle smile. He extended his hand and helped her to her feet. "Come on, it'll be dark soon. We should be getting back."

The snow crunched under their feet as the siblings made their way to the castle doors. Large flakes were beginning to fall from the sky, a welcome sight to young Zhara. Snow always meant warm drinks by the fire while her mother told stories.

"Does it seem quiet to you?" Zhara asked her brother as they passed through the halls of the castle. "There are usually more people about."

Vence nodded. "The guards aren't at their posts. Something must've happened."

"Let's go ask Father." She took her brother by the hand and half-sprinted toward the room their father reserved for forming battle plans, full of maps and small trinkets.

"Empty." Vence cursed under his breath. "Something's wrong." He scanned the corridors. There was not a soul to be seen. The two made their way to their parents' bed chamber in the hopes that they might find their parents - and answers - there.

Vence rapped on the door, but there was no answer. He tried again, this time pounding with his entire fist. His stomach knotted when there was still no reply from within. His younger sister grasped onto his cloak, her eyes wide with anxiety. The two exchanged a glance and Vence pushed open the door.

A hand clamped over Zhara's mouth, stifling her scream. Her heart thudded like horse's hooves, tears cascading down her cheeks. Vence instinctively pulled his sister close, his eyes glued on the scene before him.

The once white carpet glistened with red. Broken glass covered one side of the room. Furniture laid broken and scattered on the floor. One curtain laid by the window, the broken curtain rod still half-attached to its perch.

Cautiously, Vence stepped into the room, keeping his sister under his arm. Despite the mess, the area appeared devoid of bodies. A sleek silver dagger caught the sunlight from its place on the blood-stained carpet - Arannis' heirloom blade. The girl wriggled free of her brother's grasp to retrieve it.

"The sodding hell do we do now?" A voice echoed through the hall. Vence jumped at the noise and hastily ushered his sister into the nearest hiding place, closing the wardrobe doors behind himself.

"Zhara, give me Mother's blade. If I fear they may find us, I will rush them and buy you time to escape. Don't worry about me, just get yourself somewhere safe and stay there." He whispered.

"But -"

"Just do it. Run and don't look back. I will find you. I promise." He placed a soft kiss on her head. Two figures entered the room, their faces hidden from view. Zhara's heart threatened to spill out of her mouth, her stomach twisting. Vence stood, every muscle tensed, blade poised to slash the intruders at any moment.

"You said the rats would be in the courtyard!"

"They were _supposed_ to be!" A deeper voice snapped back.

"It's the guards!" Vence let out a shocked whisper.

"We can't go back with just two or we'll lose our sacks for it."

"They can't be far, just keep looking."

"Next shift will be in soon, we don't have long."

"You can look for the rats, I promised the missus I'd bring back something pretty for 'er today. If I don't come back with somethin' shiny it won't matter if I've got a sack or not." A third gruff voice chimed in, a hint of a chuckle behind his frustration. As the other two continued to bicker, the third man rifled through the broken dresser drawers, tucking things into his pockets occasionally. The other two had just stepped out of the room when he turned his attention to the wardrobe. Zhara's breath caught in her throat. Vence moved his hand to the door and glanced at his sister - a look that warned her things were about to get worse.

One breath passed. Two. The man reached for the handle. Vence threw his body forward, the door hitting the intruder in the face and throwing him backwards. With a ruthlessness Zhara had never seen from her brother, Vence slashed at the man with his mother's dagger. "Run, Zhara!"

Rushed footsteps approached, and shouting grew louder. Vence yelled again, his voice commanding but his eyes pleading. Blood covered his hands, chest, and face. The world seemed to disappear around her, a deafening silence filling her ears. Vence rushed toward her as the two others reappeared. His body crashed into hers, and she was falling.

She needed to reach for something. Anything. Vence was gone, and the world was spinning. As if jerked back into reality, she desperately grasped at thin air, hoping for something to materialize that would stop her fall. Finally, she came to a jolting halt. Pain ripped through her shoulder, yet it hardly registered as she regained her bearings. She had to get to her feet. Had to get away.

Where was Vence? There, coming toward her, scaling his way down the steep roof. Behind him, one of the intruders, making his way out the window. The other, nowhere to be seen.

How to escape? That way. Toward that tree. From there, she could get onto the wall. Hopefully she could find a spot to jump down from the wall that wouldn't break her legs.

Vence tugged her to her feet, and the siblings ran. His directions were lost on her, merely background noise as her body went into auto-pilot.

So this was what it was to run for your life.

The edge was nearing, and Zhara prepared to leap, but came up short when she saw one of her pursuers round the corner ahead of her. He'd stayed inside and exited through another bedroom window to cut them off. Shit.

Zhara had never changed direction so quickly before, and nearly crashed into her brother. Running purely on instinct and adrenaline, she linked arms with him and ran for the edge. They'd have to aim for the pond and hope it was deep enough. With a deep breath, she pushed off the edge. Time seemed to stop as she flew through the air and crashed through thin ice into freezing water; and as she resurfaced, it seemed to race to catch up with itself.

Soaked, the two pulled themselves from the freezing water and wasted not a moment in racing towards the castle gate. By now, they'd lost track of their hunters, but they were no doubt close behind. The two said not a word as they shot past the guards at the gate, untrusting of everyone and yet hoping beyond all hope that these guards were not as traitorous as the ones who had now rejoined the chase.

Zhara's lungs burned and her throat begged for water. The ache in her shoulder was beginning to make itself known, and a sharp pain shot through her right leg with every step. The winter air nipped at her wet skin and tore at her soaked clothing, chilling her despite the intense heat coursing through her. She coughed, as if choking on her own breath. Vence glanced at his sister, unsure how much longer she could go on. If he was to keep her safe, he had one option.

Vence took the lead, guiding his younger sister down an alley. His heart ached, but not for the strain of the chase. His heart ached for goodbye. He saw the gate ahead, and glanced down at his struggling halfling sister. Normally so calm, so in control, he could see the pain and terror on her face. Their parents were gone. Their life was gone. They'd been betrayed. He was all she had now. He was the only remnant of her former life. She would hate him for this, he knew. He could only hope that she would one day understand - that his plan would work, and that they may one day reunite. But he knew that they may well never meet again. "Zhara," he gasped between breaths. "I'm sorry, Sister." He took her hand, placing in it their mother's cherished dagger, and with one firm shove he tore himself from her life. She rolled across the dirt, coming to rest against a wall, and raised her head to see her brother fade into the distance.


End file.
